


winters kiss

by dingletragedy



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, M/M, so much fluff it’s disgusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27529285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dingletragedy/pseuds/dingletragedy
Summary: Every lunch, every break, every evening. Callum will pop up behind Ben with no prior warning, and lull him into a quiet conversation that lasts the whole of his planning period or break. In turn Ben arrives at school with two coffees in tow, two pastries, and half a tray of his Mum’s fresh brownies.Ben likes it.It’s undeniable.or, the drama teacher ben x english lit teachers callum au that absolutely no one asked for
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 35
Kudos: 129





	winters kiss

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone!!! i’m calling this one “fics born in isolation” - sometimes not being allowed to leave you house for 14 days has it’s perks, right? 
> 
> i’ve no idea where the urge to write a teachers au came from, maybe the fact i’m missing my own work a little!!! 
> 
> anyway a little background: callum has worked at walford high for years, the school he grew up at himself. ben’s only recently moved to the area after one final blow up with his dad. he choose walford because that’s where jay started new life a few years before! 
> 
> tw: mentions of past death / grief 
> 
> i hope you all enjoy x

**october, 2nd**

Here’s the thing nobody tells you about your twenties: they’re a load of shit. The only thing worse than being in your twenties is the abject horror of realising that you’re fast approaching your thirties and cannot do anything to stop it.

Incidentally, at 25, Ben currently falls into both categories, and he’s never felt it more acutely than walking through the creaking sliding doors at his brand new job. 

“Morning,” says Kheerat, the person who interviewed him, the head teacher, his superior, as much as pains Ben to admit. He’s way too upbeat for seven fucking thirty in the morning. He’s going to kill Jay for talking him into this. “Welcome to the ranks.”

“Cheers,” Ben says, and cramps his mouth into a smile-like shape. “Could you point me in the direction of the staff room please, mate?”

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Oi, I’ll see you after class, yeah?” Jay says as he nudges Ben’s shoulder and lugs his bag off the ground. “Try not to give out too many detentions on your first day, it won’t make you very popular amongst the students.” 

“And what makes you think I want to be Mr. Popular?” Ben says, though it’s muffled through the bite of his breakfast. “I ain’t about to lose my solid reputation just because you’ve _forced_ me into this job, Jay.”

“Oh behave! Just don’t go making any year sevens cry, yeah?” Jay pats him on the shoulder as he makes to exit the staff room. “Later, mate.”

“See ya, sunshine,” Ben gives him a wink. 

The performing arts department is across the school, apparently, behind the small cluster of English classrooms, so he has to cross the playing field to get there. He hisses when the chill hits him, creeping under his white shirt and pressing against his skin. By the time he’s ducking under the roof of the pathway to the arts building, protected by brick walls, he’s shivering and eager to get back inside. 

He’s so lost in his own thoughts, rubbing his hands up and down his arms vigorously, that as he goes to round the corner, he runs straight into someone coming the other way. Instinctively, he reaches out to latch on to whoever it is he’s smacked into to stop himself from toppling over, and the solid chest he’s bumped into does the same, the two of them letting out a startled shout and stumbling.

There’s a clatter of noise as the person drops their things, and Ben manages to steady himself enough to bring his startled eyes upward.

And. _Oh._

He retracts his hands immediately and steps away, brushing himself off.

“Sorry, sorry,” he stutters, so unlike himself, holding his hands out in alarm. 

“Hey, ‘s’alright,” the man chuckles, a little breathless. “All good, mate.”

“Sorry again,” Ben repeats, averting his eyes because _God—_ this man, this gorgeous, gorgeous man is standing in front of him looking so... _gorgeous_. Ben is hopelessly, _wildly_ attracted to him.

He kneels down and tries to gather the man’s things into his arms, hoping to make this whole exchange less awkward. The man joins him slowly on the ground. There’s paper everywhere, some of it already damp from the chill in the air. 

“You’re the new teacher, ain’t ya?” The man asks tentatively, closing a folder.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Ben answers with a closed lip smile. “Drama. Although I ain’t sure I’m heading the right way.”

“School ain’t that big,” the man answers. “Didn’t you get a special _once-in-a-lifetime_ tour from one of the office ladies?” 

“Not as such,” Ben says, then holds out a piece of paper. The man burst a laugh as he looks down at it. It’s a map of the school, of some kind, hand drawn by Karen, the school’s eighty-five year old receptionist, who seems to have very little sense of direction.

“Ah, I see,” the man grimaces, handing the map back. He gathers up another bundle of paper, and freezes when spots one of Ben’s books that was buried underneath it. He picks it up carefully, and looks up at Ben cautiously.

“Oh, I love that book,” he says softly, snapping Ben out of his thoughts, his mouth curling into a half smile. Ben’s breath leaves his chest.

“Me too,” he answers coolly. 

There’s a moment, then, suspended, where the man’s eyes are intense too for Ben’s, striking and flashing and so warm. 

“Really?”

“No,” Ben answers, biting back a laugh. “I don’t read.” 

“But you’re a drama teacher, ain’t you?”

“Doesn’t mean I read,” Ben explains, feeling this confidence suddenly, a sense of belonging, that he hasn’t felt all morning. All year, even. “My students do that part for me. Or at least I hope they will.” 

“The year sevens might, year eights at a push,” the man says, a tiny smile curling his lips. “But after that, you’ve got no chance.” 

“Go on then, what’s your favourite book?” Ben asks, and _God;_ he once thought himself a smooth talker. “I’m looking for something to study with my GCSE class, but I’ve no idea.” 

“Definitely try Invisible Man, Ralph Ellison,” Callum answers immediately, sure as anything. “I’ve never read it all, only—only the first hundred pages are so, but I’ll never forget those words. It was my Nan’s favourite book, she saved it for my 18th birthday, but I uh—well, I must’ve misplaced it along the way.” 

Ben doesn’t know what to say, can only watch as the emotions shift over Callum’s face, so unexpected, so quick, the pain that slowly rose in his eyes. 

The man clears his throat, “I’m Callum, by the way. Or Mr. Highway, if you’d rather.” 

“Ben. Um,” Ben flicks his eyes away. _CallumCallumCallum_. “I’m Ben. Or Mr. Mitchell, if that’s what you’re into.” 

Callum smiles again then, letting his laugh fall freely, that flash of pain dissipated just as fast as it arrived. His eyes flutter, gentle like fresh snowfall. His hair hangs over his forehead a little, and he attempts to brush it away with an odd shake of his head. “ _Anyway,_ about that Drama classroom. Through these doors, up the first set of stairs and you’ll be in the third classroom to your left. I’ll see you around, Ben.” 

“Yeah, cheers,” Ben starts to walk past him, the two of them angling their bodies so they’re still facing each other. “See you around, if I don’t get eaten alive by the year nines first.”

As Ben steers away, he can hear the echo of Callum’s footsteps and laughter resonating through the tunnel and he blinks his eyes together hard, patting at his skin to try and remove the flush from his cheeks.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**october, 9th**

He does see Callum around again. An awful lot of the time, actually. 

They share the same lunch hour. 

“Who’s that?” Ben asks Callum one lunchtime, as the woman walks off. Smile on her face is almost as bright as Callum’s. 

“Whitney Dean. Head of Design.” 

“She seems nice.” 

“Yeah,” Callum says, voice light and eyes happy. “She’s brilliant, helped me a lot over the years. You and Jay seem close, he tells me you’ve known each other forever?” 

“Yeah, that’s right,” Ben confirms, a proud smile firm on his face as it always is when he thinks of Jay. “He’s my brother, more or less, in every way it matters, anyway.” 

“Ah,” Callum nods. “Must be nice to have someone all the way down here, though. Means you ain’t a total stranger, I guess.” 

“It is nice,” Ben says. “I ain’t the best at making friends, never exactly been Mr. Popular.” 

“Ah, that’s not what I've heard,” Callum laughs, eyebrows wiggling suggestively. “Mr. Smith seems to have taken a liking already.”

“Oh, gross!” Ben yells. He feels a flush flood his cheeks, and it’s most definitely _not_ because of Mr. Smith. “Ain’t he like... sixty?” 

“Try adding ten years!”

“Nah, he ain’t my type unfortunately, I like my men a little less… _bald,_ ” Ben says carefully. He’s desperate to gauge Callum’s reaction, and although he’s heard _things,_ he still has his guard up. 

“Good to know,” is what he says, voice light and teasing. “I’m still in with a chance then?” 

“Oh absolutely,” Ben confirms, maybe a little too eager. He’d be lying if he said he heart didn’t do a stupid little dance at that. “Everyday of the week.” 

Callum turns and places the mugs into the drying rack. Laughter bursting him out of him like the brightest star. 

“Hey, Ben?” He calls over his shoulder. Lips bitten into his mouth curiously, eyes trained on Ben. 

“If you, uh,” he taps his fingers against the worktop, looking shy all of a sudden. “If you ever get lonely, or bored, _or whatever,_ let me know. I can show you all the highlights of Walford.” 

Ben’s lips curl into a smile. “Really?”

“No,” Callum laughs. “They ain’t any to show, but I _can_ offer you cheap beer in a warm pub, _and_ the best company a man can find.”

“And whose company might that be?” Ben questions, eyes looking around the room teasingly. 

Callum grins. “Mine, _obviously_.”

“Tempting,” Ben muses. “ _Very tempting._ ” 

“Excellent,” Callum chirps. “Can’t wait.” 

They’re stuck in that moment again, just looking at each other with nothing else to say, because embedded in the silence is something weighty and palpable, intense and so brilliant. 

“Thank you, Callum,” Ben says, sincere. “I think I’ll be taking you up on that offer many times this year.” 

“No worries,” Callum continues up the stairs, but he pauses after a moment and turns back to him. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah, me too,” Ben says. He pushes off the sink and moves to follow, heart fluttering in his chest. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**october, 13th**

“Alright, Ben,” Callum says as he enters the staffroom a few mornings later. 

“Mm?” Ben hums in response distractedly, circling a small group of words and drawing a line from them up to a scribbled sentence.

“What are you doing after work tonight?”

Ben’s eyebrows raise slowly. “Was that a line?”

Callum’s lips quirk, and he finally sends him a sideways glance. “ _Definitely_ not. Just curious.”

“Well, you’re my only friend here—“

“Hey!” Jay protests quietly from across the table. 

“—so, nothing that I know of.”

“You should come to The Vic with us,” Callum says. “I need someone to help me with the quiz. My knowledge of noughties pop bands ain’t too great.”

“Where?” Ben questions, side-eyeing Jay. _Don’t you dare expose my Girls Aloud obsession, I’m trying to impress._

“The pub down the road,” Callum explains. “A bunch of us go after work every Friday, but they’ve got some sort of charity night on tonight so it’s tickets only. I’ve got a spare and thought you might fancy it.” 

“Oh,” Ben drawls, nose scrunching. “I’m not sure it’s really my kind of thing.”

“What?” Callum questions. “ _A pub?_ ”

“No,” Ben swivels in his chair as quick as a sip of this steaming coffee. A teacher necessity. He interrupts Callum before he can say, _Charity, then?_ “Fine, fine. I’ll come. Just don’t think you’re getting me up dancing to Saturday Night. I’ve seen the video footage.”

“Hey, _watch it!_ ” Callum exclaims, hands up in mock surrender. “Or I’ll be giving Jay that spare ticket.”

Callum turns to leave them to argue it out, but not before Ben gets one last jib in, one last line, “lose the suit first though, you look like a teacher.”

“I _am_ a teacher!”

  
  


As expected, the pub is packed.

Outside, it’s already close to pitch black, winter drawing the sun down early and freezing daytime out. But inside the pub it feels like another world. It’s all fluorescent lights and warm laughter. 

They’ve bagged themselves a round, tall table squeezed at the back of the pub. Below them is a much larger table, littered with faces from the school. Some Ben recognises, some he doesn’t, and others he _wishes_ he didn’t. He's quick to make enemies, it’s a talent. He’s not really sure how he and Callum ended up with their own table, but he’s eternally grateful they did. 

It’s then, as they settle with their second round of drinks that Ben notices their legs are pressed undeniably close together, twisted all awkwardly and he feels hot under his collar. He tries not to move his legs at all, keeps them stock still so Callum doesn’t notice. It seems his tactics fail him, however, when Callum lets out a soft breath of laughter, private and almost shy, and starts to shift his legs as he slides over in his seat.

“Sorry,” Callum says, trying to pull his legs back as far as he can.

“You’ve got giraffe legs,” Ben says. “All gangly and long.”

“And you’ve got elf legs,” Callum says. “Short.”

“I’m five-nine _and_ a half,” he grouches. “Thank you very much.” 

“Uh-huh,” Callum’s lips curl slowly. “ _Lies_.”

The quiz lasts a good hour, and in that time Ben consumes more drinks than appropriate for a first work outing. They come second in the quiz, losing out to Lola and Jay, much to Ben’s despair — all because Callum was _convinced_ ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’, topped the charts this week. _It’s bloody October._

“We all know who the clear loser is here, Callum. There is no dispute. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“If you would just—“

“Nope.”

“You are so—“

“ _Sh,_ ” Ben presses a finger against Callum’s lips, squishing them closed. “No more.”

“Here’s the facts,” Callum says seriously, holding up one finger. “Mariah Carey holds the top spot of _all_ songs _ever_.”

“Not in October, she doesn’t!” Ben shouts indignantly. 

“Alright, fair enough,” Callum agrees, although it looks as if it pains him to do so. “But the second the clock ticks over into November, it's acceptable to listen to Mariah every second of the day, unless you’re bloody scourge.”

He’s got a glass of red wine in his hand now, and Ben’s had a little smile permanently plastered to his face for at least an hour, it’s unfamiliar, this ache of his jaw. 

“Hm, I’m more of a Bublé fan myself.” 

“We’ll settle _that_ argument on Christmas Eve,” Callum says, now leant across the table with an amused grin. “We can have a proper showdown, alright?”

“Why?” Ben drawls, intrugment sparking before he can stop it. “What happens on Christmas Eve?” 

“Karaoke night,” Callum explains, “except it’s all Christmas songs, and everyone gets ridiculously drunk and it’s possibly the worst and best thing you’ll ever see.”

“Definitely the best!” Whitney perks up from the table below, and Ben won’t admit it, but he’d forgotten a bunch of their co-workers were sitting just meters away, too lost in blue eyes. “Last year Jay dressed up as a _sexy_ Santa Claus and stripped to ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside.’ Singing _both_ parts. It was incredible.”

“Why on earth did he strip?” Ben’s eyebrows have risen into his hairline. “I can’t believe he never told me!” 

“Nobody knows,” Vinny shrugs. “But mate, it was probably the funniest moment of my life to date.”

“I am sitting right here, thank you very much!” Jay moans, eliciting another round of laughter. 

“We’re looking for someone to outdo him this year,” Whitney grins. “Callum’s currently the bookies favourite.”

“Hey!” Callum reaches forward and flicks her ponytail. Then his gaze drifts to Ben, softening. “What about you? Ready to give us a star performance?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Ben says. “Ain’t sure I could pull off a little red dress though.” 

Callum hides his laughter behind his hand, a blush creeps up his necks as he loses his eyes to the tabletop. Ben’s heart flutters in his chest, and he knocks their feet together again.

“What?” 

“Nothing, just—“ Callum stutters. “Just thinking about you all dressed up.”

“Oh yeah? All good thoughts, I hope.” 

“The very best.” 

“Pack it in, you two!” Jay groans. 

“Oh leave them, I think it’s sweet,” Whitney coos. “They’re clearly smitten with each other.”

They get progressively more drunk throughout the night, all of them, and eventually, their little group drifts outside into the beer garden. All the chairs are taken, so they huddle themselves into the corner and sit along the wooden bench, bopping their heads along to the music. 

Ben is warm against Callum’s side, and as the rest of the group fall into conversation, he stubbly scoots himself a little closer. There are large trees in the garden, they dip forward and create this alcove of safety, pulling shadows from the darkening sky, hazy bronze and orange.

Their legs are pressed up purposely, even with the tight seating arrangement. Callum has been flicking his eyes over all night, sending Ben little looks with his mouth pressed into a hidden smile. Each time their gazes lock, Ben pushes their legs together firmly and bites at his straw. 

Callum smiles up at him again and this time Ben let’s his eyes flicker down to his lips, and then back up to his eyes, own lips bitten into his teeth in order to poorly conceal his smirk. 

“You ain’t very subtle, are you?” Callum says, eyes shy and bright.

“Maybe I ain’t trying to be,” Ben shrugs. 

Later, when they leave, Callum pulls his beanie on against the cold air and rests against the doorframe with one leg crossed behind the other. The light behind from inside turns him bronze-tipped and soft, and Ben feels an odd pull in his gut as he turns to walk out of the doorway. 

“Ben,” Callum says suddenly, a low hum. 

“Yeah?” Ben answers, stopping to turn back to Callum with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched.

“I ain’t—,” Callum looks away for a moment, fingers wringing together in front of his chest. “I ain’t making this all up in my head, am I?”

Ben stares at him, looks at the messy halo of his hair and the soft sweep of his eyelashes. Right in between his ribs, something presses it’s hands down firmly. “No,” he says quietly. “I don’t think you are.”

Callum flicks his eyes back, hooded and so full. On his lips, a private smile, barely there.

Stepping to the left of Ben, he says, “see you at work next week.” 

Ben swallows thickly and forces himself to move his feet, forces himself not to run into Callum’s arms. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs. There’s a steady thump in his chest. “See ya next week, Cal.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**october, 16th**

They form a tentative friendship, of sorts. Friends on the cusps of something more. _So much more._

Ben’s never felt so much for a person before. So much he can’t explain. It’s like, instead of wondering where Callum is, he’s hyper-aware of where he _isn’t._

The Monday after their evening in the pub, Callum keeps Ben at his desk all of lunch, chatting his ear off. Ben doesn’t even realise it’s happening until the bell is ringing and Callum backs away slowly, a shy smile on his face. When Jay asks him where he was later, he fobs him off and says he was _asking Mrs. Fox for extra guidance with lesson planning._

Only, it keeps happening.

Every lunch, every break, every evening. Callum will pop up behind him with no prior warning, and lull him into a quiet conversation that lasts the whole of his planning period or break. In turn Ben arrives at school with two coffees in tow, two pastries, and half a tray of his Mum’s fresh brownies. 

Ben likes it. _It’s undeniable._

Slowly, he learns the little things about Callum. His favourite colour is yellow, but he doesn’t have a favourite song or album because he can’t choose, he likes to read at least one book every week, and he loves to wear various coloured flannel shirts and matching underwear, which is possibly Ben’s favourite thing ever. 

But they’re just the little things, just the tiny pieces, and Ben soon begins to realise that as much as he’s learning about Callum now, l there’s still so much he doesn’t know. A whole Callum-shaped world he has to uncover. 

When they don’t see each other around school, seemingly because Callum disappears off the face of the planet, or Ben’s stuck in a year nine detention, he leaves notes stuck under Ben’s desk or his staff draw. The first time, Ben had blinked in surprise at the tiny piece of paper slipped under a pile of course books. When he’d picked it up, he’d shoved it into his pocket as quickly as he could, he doesn’t need nosy year tens spreading gossip, thank you very much. 

_Lesson planning at mine? I’ll cook. Mr H x_

And of course, he goes. 

After that first evening at Callum’s house, they draw impossibly closer. Ben spends half his time there, faking lesson planning and training, but in reality, it looks more like this: _two of them orbiting each other as they cook and clean or just reheat leftovers and be done with it, feet knocking under the table as they eat, settling on the sofa side by side as they just play music and talk for hours. And after, when it comes to saying goodbye, they spend too long stood out on the doorstep, always regretful in leaving each other’s sides._

They fall into this pattern quickly. _And it’s so, so easy._

And not once does Ben stop it, doesn’t even try. 

Because he can’t deny that Callum is the kind of person he’s drawn to, the kind of person that’s passionate and truthful in everything they do and believe in, someone bright and different and unique. Someone with a mouth that would fold just right with his, someone whose fingers would fit in the gaps, someone that he would let have his heart, someone he would choose a hundred times over. 

Callum is beautiful. _All the time. It never stops._

  
  


**october, 18th**

It’s Thursday evening, and Ben practically sprints from his final period class — unwilling to stay back a second longer than necessary today — stapled paper flying everywhere in his haste to make it to the car park before Callum leaves.

When he stumbles out of the main building, entirely out of breath, Callum is there, about to get into his car. 

“ _Hey!_ ” Ben shouts breathlessly. He dumps his books onto the bonnet of Callum’s car. 

“Uh,” Callum says, looking caught out. “Hey.”

“Sorry, just—“ Ben holds up a finger, trying to catch his breath. Running — no, _exercise,_ is _so_ not his thing. 

“Y’alright?” Callum asks, and there’s a laugh in his tone, a grin on his lips.

“Yeah, wanted to give you this before you disappeared,” Ben finally pulls the gift from his backpack. It’s terribly wrapped and looks like it’s been sat on. 

“You…” Callum looks a little speechless. “I mean, why?” 

“Because I’m a lovely person,” Ben grins. _“Why else_.”

Callum remains still, eyebrows knitted together curiously.

“Just open your present,” Ben rolls his eyes, and Callum laughs that gorgeous sound. “The suspense is killing me.” 

He opens it just as Ben thought he would. Despite it’s crumpled, poorly wrapped appearance, Callum peels the sticky tape off piece by piece, so delicate in doing so. 

When he finally places the paper behind him, Callum stares down with shock. 

“Is that—“ he cuts himself off, mouth slowly curling into a shy smile. 

“I remembered what you said that first day I met you, um—“ Ben stops himself, and tries again. “I’ve probably got the wrong one, or maybe you’ve found a copy by now but, I don’t know—“

“Oh,” Callum says. He has tears in his eyes. He holds the book in his hands like it’s made of fine china. _Invisible Man._

“Do you—” Ben pauses, watches as Callum takes the book into his hands and presses it against his chest. He closes his eyes slowly, opens them slower. 

“Yes. God, Ben—,” he whispers, muffled by hardback. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s alright,” Ben lowers his head slightly, in almost a stoic shock at how affected Callum is by this, unsure of what to do. Callum’s shoulders shudder with a caught breath. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Callum murmurs. “It’s just—this is really thoughtful. It means the world, y’know? To know that someone listened to me, remembered, _cared._ Thank you so much, Ben.” 

“I just hope it’s worth the wait,” Ben says, full of nervous laughter as he scuffs his shoe against the gravel. Callum smiles at him, wider. 

“How did you even find it?”

“I was talking to my Nan about, _well—about you,_ and, um,” Ben says, voice shaking with something he didn’t realise he was capable of feeling, “and that first day I met you. It was so clear on your face, how much having this book again would mean to you. And my Nan’s a sucker for a touching story like that, she was more than happy for me to take this.” 

Callum visibly swallows around the lump in his throat, still stuck in the exact same position. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“You don’t have to say anything. Just—enjoying it.” 

“What are you doing, after school?” Callum asks then, sudden. 

“Um,” Ben stomach bubbles. “Nothing.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” Callum asks, and there it is, that mischief, that curious little sparkle. “Come back to mine?” 

“What d’you have in mind?” Ben asks.

“I was just gonna trail one of my new recipes,” Callum says, then his smile widens. “You could be my guinea pig.” 

“Sounds dangerous,” he muses, before finally agreeing, because who is he to turn such an offer down? “Lead the way.”

“Oh and we could _maybe_ make a start on putting up the Christmas Tree!” 

And just like that, Ben’s anticipated loneliness of the festive period vanishes, whisked away by the tiny bubble of hope in his chest and the look in Callum’s eye.

This could be something more. _So much more._

  
  
  


**october, 30th**

A couple of Friday’s later, they wind up in the pub again. Ben reckons he might as well set a tab up here already; he’s not sure there’s anywhere he’d rather bring his first working month to a close. 

This time they stay until the music cuts off and all that’s left is the gentle whistle of the wind creeping in from outside, until the lights dim and Mick chases them out.

Outside, the air is biting, the night clear. Their little group parts ways with hugs and chilly shudders of shoulders.

“Hey,” Callum’s hand wraps around Ben’s arm from behind, once the others begin to head down the path, keeping him back gently. “Do you uh, do you wanna come have another drink back at mine, maybe?”

“Oh,” Ben says with a blink of poorly concealed surprise. “Yeah, yeah that’d be nice.”

“Alright, c’mon then,” Callum starts to lead him, tucking himself close to Ben’s side against the cold. 

Ben’s stomach is turning with every step. Each time he glances down, Callum is already watching him with a soft smile. Ben returns it, but it does nothing to quell the waves of unwarranted nerves that are washing over him. 

When they shuffle inside, everything is dark and still. The only light comes from the window at the end of the hall, splaying a silver glow over the edges of everything, moon waxing and crawling in to be close. 

Ben steps in first and tugs off his gloves, as Callum pulls off his beanie and shakes out his hair. They’re both still then, silent aside from their breathing. It’s all so quiet.

But then Callum lays a gentle hand on the small of Ben’s back, and all he hears is blood rushing in his ears. Then comes Callum’s forehead, pressed between his shoulder blades, hair tickling the back of Ben’s neck. He can hear, _no feel,_ Callum release a shaky breath, as his other hand joins the first, as they slide around Ben’s front to rest over his stomach. Ben swallows audibly, eyes fluttering at how gentle it is, at how much he wants. _Needs._

“ _Callum,”_ Ben whispers in the dark as he turns in his arms, let’s Callum bring his hands to cup Ben’s jaw. Callum blinks up at him, eyes shining in the moonlight, little pools of inky blue, dotted with pearly-white stars. They stare at each other for a moment, and Ben just lets it rush over him, lets himself go. He tells himself to _stop thinking,_ to _stop worrying,_ to put himself in the here and now; not tomorrow, not yesterday. _Now._

His chest shudders with a breath. Callum’s lips part.

They collide.

His entire body slumps with it, falls into Callum with weak knees, _falls, falls, falls,_ until he’s crowding Callum against the door, until their thick coats rub and rustle together and the icy tips of their noses brush along their cheeks. It makes Ben inhale sharply, makes him open his mouth wider to try and take warmth from Callum’s own.

In their haste something tumbles a shelf and hits the floor. A book, probably, Ben doesn’t know. He’s distracted completely by Callum’s frantic fingers curling up in his shirt, then spreading over the now exposed, flushed skin of his back. 

Their panting mouths are unwilling to part. Ben, he’s unwilling to let go, with his palms holding Callum’s wrist fiercely, searching them in place at Ben’s jaw. 

Soon, though, he wants _more,_ and gets his hands between them, fumbling to undo Callum’s belt. In turn Callum’s fervent touch travels to match Ben’s own, over his hips and firm, thumbs digging into the skin there, the pressure so close but so far from where Ben wants him that it’s absolutely maddening. The mind-bending spectrum of _too-much-not-enough_ has him gasping into Callum’s mouth. Not a moment later, Callum’s shirt is ripped up over his head and tossed out into the room. 

“Callum,” he whispers, and it’s so, so quiet. But it’s enough. “God, you’re gorgeous.” 

“Been thinking about this so much,” Callum whimpers between parted lips. “Thinking about _you_ so much.” 

Ben feels everything go blank, hears white noise as the sound reaches his ears, overwhelmed. His own shirt is half hanging off his shoulders and Callum’s arms are around his neck, his fingers deep in Ben’s hair as their tongues move together. 

Their bodies are pressed together, limbs interlocked in a jumble, just trying to hold on wherever they can, just trying to press close enough that every part of their bodies is feeling it.

Ben knows that it’s ridiculous, that he can’t possibly feel so deeply about Callum yet. He only knows the little things, has only seen this tiny part of Callum, but a few weeks of his laughter and his smile and his passion, is enough to set all of Ben’s guards alive. 

“Ben, _Ben,”_ Callum gasps for breath as he manages to pull away, hands not leaving their home on Ben’s neck. Ben brings his lips to his neck and sucks, listens to the high, keening sound Callum makes and shudders. “We gotta— _c’mon_. Bedroom.”

“We've got all night,” Ben says softly. He pulls back a little and brushes a wayward, stray hair from Callum’s eyesight. “I don’t want to forget any of this.”

The second they reach the bedroom, they melt back together, dizzy and careful in the only way it can be. Ben’s losing it, he’s sure, losing sight of which way is up and which way is down and where to put his hands next. Each part of Callum he touches is a shame to leave, but to leave any part untouched seems even more of a loss. 

**november, 2nd**

“Good morning, everyone,” Callum sing-songs as they make their entrance into the staff room the following Monday, an undeniable spring in both their steps; it’s sickening, really. There’s a chorus of returned pleasantries, some bright and cheerful, others woefully said. Whitney is at the head of the large centre table, chin resting in her palm as she watches the chaos of the morning erupt with a tiny smile.

“What’s got you so _bright_ before eight am, Highway?” She questions, eyes curious.

“My brilliant company, obviously,” Ben muses. 

“Yeah, I doubt that, mate,” Lola quips. 

“Oh, I know! He got lucky,” Jay adds, sly smile on his face, evidently directed at Ben. _Fuck,_ he really needs to work on his poker face. “That shit eating grin on his face is a dead give away.”

“On a school night?” Kheerat adds, walking into the room and _exactly_ the wrong time. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“I guess you _could_ say that actually, Jay,” Callum holds up his copy of _Invisible Man_ so everyone can see it.

“Ah,” Whitney taps a finger against the cover. “Your faithful husband.”

“Oh, Highway,” Lola shakes her head. “You are _such_ a nerd.” 

Callum snorts inelegantly. “Well maybe being married to a book wouldn’t be so bad after all.”

“Don’t let Ben here you say that,” Jay argues, and _God_ , Ben’s going to kill him one of these days. “He’s already picked out the dress.”

“ _Jay_!,” Ben hisses, pushing him out of the door. “Haven't you got some phones to be confiscating? It baffles me that Kheerat hasn’t fired you yet.”

“It’s because of my undeniable charm,” Jay argues.

“The only charm you have is pissing me off,” Ben glowers. “ _Piss off.”_

“Alright, alright, _calm down,_ ” Jay holds his hands up in mock surrender, but the quirk of his lips does nothing to hide his game. “I’m going, but me and you will be having words later, Benjamin.” 

Beside him, Callum looks so gorgeous, lips bitten red and cheeks matching in colour.

“Yeah we best all get off, actually,” Whitney adds, forever the voice of reason. “Kids will be flooding the corridors in no time.” 

When they’re alone again, this heavy buzz settles around the. Callum turns to Ben, eyes bright. 

“Friday was, um,” Ben bites the corner of his lower lip into his mouth, half a smirk and half an attempt to stop himself from saying something stupid. “ _Wow.”_

“Yeah,” Callum says. “ _Wow.”_

And then they’re just staring at each other again, eyes searching. Ben’s throat feels tight, but it’s not with a bad kind of nerves. It feels like an anticipation, a fluttering feeling he’s never welcomed before. 

“So, I kinda like you,” Callum shuffles closer to bump their noses together. “Just a bit.”

“Only a bit?” Ben raises an amused eyebrow. “That’s a shame. I like you more than a bit.”

“Glad to hear it.”

When Callum makes to leave, Ben slides over and pulls him close, warmth spreading down to his toes. Callum buries his face against his neck entirely, kissing that same spot he did so often on Friday night, and whispers a very delicate _see you later._

“So,” Jay says, as he pokes his head around the door of Ben’s empty classroom later that morning, “what, or should I say _who,_ put that smile on your face, hm?”

“What smile?” Ben says nonchalantly. “I ain’t even smiling, mate. You must be seeing things.”

“Right,” Jay drawls, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “Try again.” 

“Fine,” Ben says, working his mind for an answer that isn’t _CallumCallumCallum_. “My Dad, sent me a lovely message this morning, would you believe?” 

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Jay laughs as he perches himself on the edge of Ben’s desk.

“Stop pecking me head! It was no one, I just _really_ love Mondays, okay?”

“Gave yourself that monster of a hickey then, did you?” 

Ben slaps his hand against his neck reflexively, glaring at him. 

“Honestly Ben,” Jay teases with a deep drawl, a roll of his eyes and a laugh. “That was quick, even for you.” 

“Shut up,” Ben gripes. “Have you seen him? The way that suit clings to him? I was helpless mate. _Helpless_.”

“Ugh, no more information, please,” Jay holds a hand up, face twisted. “I don’t need to know.”

“You brought it up!” Ben rolls his eyes.

“I’m happy for you, Callum’s a good bloke. Don’t go messing it up, mate,” Jay warms as he swiftly turns to exit the room. 

“Cheers for that one,” Ben bellows down the hall. “ _Mate._ ”

**november, 11th**

It’s already close to pitch black when they arrive at Ben’s house after a gruelling Wednesday. Winter drawing the sun down before it’s time and freezing London out. 

It was Callum’s idea to go for a walk, obviously. Ben himself. quite content with dinner and an early night. But despite himself, he enjoys it. 

They walk through the local park first, hands swinging between them, fingers brushing each time they pass. They chat idly, breathes warm puffs of silky air under the hazy streetlights.m, they come to a mutual agreement on spag bol for tea, which they find the ingredients for fairly easily. 

Ben’s house is tiny, a square little thing that’s all navy blue and white with a faded, paint-scratched picket fence. It’s nothing much but it’s his, for the first time in _his_ life, it’s all his own and he’s damn proud of it. 

They step inside, shrugging their many layers off. Despite the insane chill running down his spine, Ben feels warm on the inside, always does with Callum by his side. 

He leans down to kiss Callum against the door, just one, long press that’s warm and gentle. He smiles into it when Callum sighs against his lips, when his arms wrap around his waist.

And then Ben’s mouth is wide, Callum dipping over him and pressing his thumbs against his jaw, he feels starved, desperate and needy for _more._ Callum sighs into his mouth, his tongue sensual and slow inside Ben’s mouth. 

Ben can’t help but whine, because it’s just so—

He kisses him like he’s drawing warmth right back out of his lungs, chests pressed warmly together, encased in the heat of it all. Callum pulls back abruptly, breath shuddery and soft, his eyes a little wide, mouth parted. “I’ve never felt anything like this before,” is what he says. “It’s never been like this for me before.”

“Me neither,” Ben whispers. “I feel so—I don’t know. I don’t know how to make words out of it.”

”It’s something I never thought I’d get to feel, that’s for sure.” 

“Its a good feeling though, right?” Ben asks.

“Yeah,” Callum nods, dropping down for another kiss. “The best feeling.”

“We should take a bath,” Ben murmurs against his lips. “Lots of bubbles.”

“I second that,” Callum slides off him slowly, making his way up the stairs as if he lives here himself. It makes Ben’s heart spike. 

When they’re both clean and snug again, hair still damp, Ben’s laptop awakens shrill and unexpected, the tiny Zoom bubble popping up.

 _Shit, his Mum._ He’d completely forgotten it was their scheduled Zoom call evening. _Too wrapped up on Callum to even remember his own name._

“It’s my Mum,” Ben says, dragging it closer. Callum freezes with his mug of tea halfway to his lips. 

“Is it alright that I’m, like,” he gestures to himself, “here? I can go if you’d rather?”

“Don’t be daft, I want you to meet her,” Ben says, his heart is in his throat. He’s literally in bed with Callum, and he’s about to introduce him to his family. _Alright._

The video starts to load, and Ben blinks at all the heads crammed into the screen. So not just his Mum then, great. 

“Uncle Ben!” Little Peggy screams. _Ear-piercing screams._

“Is that a little munchkin I hear?” 

Ben hides his smile behind his mug as each person starts to talk over the top of each other. He sends Callum a sideways glance, whose lips are tucked into a fond smile.

“Alright, alright,” he hushes them. “I know I’m the family favourite, no need for a squabble.”

“You _know_ that’s going to start a squabble,” his mum's eyes shin. _“Ian, don’t even start!”_

“Yes Ian,” Ben grins. “ _Don’t start_.”

Callum can’t help it when he snorts into his mug, laughter spilling through his lips, eyes watering from trying to hold it in. It doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Who’s that?” five voices say in unison. 

“The Ghost of Christmas Past,” Ben says dryly.

“Ben,” Callum elbows his side, still laughing. Ben sighs.

“Alright, everybody stay calm,” Ben rolls his eyes and tilts the laptop towards Callum. All five heads perk up immediately. Even Peggy’s.

“Erm, _hiii,_ ” Callum drawls nervously with a tiny wave of his hand. Chaos erupts.

Ben winces and turns the volume down rapidly.

“Shh!” he waves his hands frantically at the camera. “You’ll frighten the poor lad.”

“Benjamin Mitchell,” his mother says sternly. “ _Who_ is that?”

“Mother Dearest,” Ben replies. “This is Callum, he’s an English teacher at the same school as me. Callum, Kathy.”

“Oh, aren’t you a sweetheart!” Kathy coos, then narrows her eyes at the screen. “Ben, move your giant head so I can say hello.”

Ben aims to look affronted, but can’t keep the smile off his face and tilts the laptop further towards Callum, who’s clutching his tea in his hands like his life depends on it. 

“Oh, he’s cute!” Louise chirps. Callum smiles shyly. Ben groans.

“He is, ain’t he?” Kathy smiles. “Y’alright, love?” 

“I’m good, yeah,” Callum says, flushing under the gaze of five pairs of very intense eyes. “We uh—we just went for a walk around Ben’s area, which was nice. Was chilly outside but uh—uh, it’s a lovely little place. He’s in good hands here.” 

“Ben, are you going to introduce the rest of us to your boyfriend?” Louise huffs. “You’re so bloody rude, I swear.”

Ben glances at Callum in alarm. _Boyfriend._ They haven’t—they haven’t even mentioned that, or talked about it. Ben pulls himself together, though, then makes sure he has Callum’s attention as he points at each face on the screen.

“My dearest sister, Louise. My insufferable brother, Ian. My favourite nephew, Bobby. And the sweetest little girl, my niece, Peggy,” he says in one breath, fingers skirting over each face. Callum blinks.

“Nice to meet you all,” Callum says warmly.

“Alright, you lot, shoo away,” Kathy says, once Bobby has had some time to talk. “Mother time, now.”

“Bye, Ben!” Peggy sticks her tongue out at the screen and leans in close.

“Bye, munchkin,” Ben laughs.

They scatter slowly, finally leaving his Mum to some peace. 

“Have you been alright, love?” Kathy asks. “Work okay?”

“All good,” Ben says. “Enjoying it more than I like to admit, actually.”

“And you’re coming home for Christmas, right?” 

Ben can feel Calum tense up a little, and he watches his face, the slow blink of his lashes. “I, uh—I don’t think so Mum. School’s super busy right now and we’ve got plans. Me, Cal, Jay and Lola. I’m sorry.” 

“Hm,” Kathy frowns. “Well, alright. Don’t be feeling guilty, I know you’re building your own life down there and I’m so happy for you, love. Really.” 

“Thanks, Mum.” 

“Well, I expect that you’ll be coming in the new year, then?” Kathy says, the brightness back in her voice. “You still have to fix my car!” 

“Oh, God,” Ben groans. “Not that bloody car again.”

“You did a proper awful job last time,” Kathy says. “Sorry, love. It’s true.” 

“Nice to see you, Ben! You’re the best son in the world,” Ben grins sarcastically. “Shit mechanic, though!”

Kathy lets out a fond chuckle. “My, my, whatever will I do with you? Callum must really be a good one if he’s willing to spend his spare time with you.”

Callum smiles softly. “It ain’t too much of a hardship. You’ve raised an amazing person, if I’m honest."

Ben stills beside him, just watching, heart in his throat. “Thank you, love. He was a real menace but I tried my best.”

Ben squawks in protest, but Callum cuts him off. “Oh I agree with the hard work part. D’ya know it took him forty-five minutes to chop _three_ vegetables yesterday.”

“Okay, I’m ending this call _now,”_ Ben says loudly. “Mum, I love you, send my love to everyone. I’ll call you next week.”

“I love you too, Ben,” Kathy blows a kiss to the screen. “Bye, Callum. Lovely to meet you. Hopefully we’ll see each other in person soon, hm?”

Callum turns to the screen. “I hope we will. Bye, Kathy.”

Ben blows one final kiss before the screen goes blank. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Callum blinking slowly and playing with a loose thread on the blanket.

It’s a gradual thing when Ben falls into his side. He leans his head on Callum’s shoulder, tucks his face into his neck and reaches for his hand. There’s a soft melancholy around them, and Ben swallows, squeezing Callum’s fingers tight. 

“Want to drink a lot of wine and kiss on the floor?” He says.

Callum lets out a soft puff of laughter and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“I’d love to,” he murmurs into Ben’s hair. 

**november, 12th**

Waking up in Callum’s bed is, _new._ Unfamiliar, but ever so welcomed. The sheets smell like him, all vanilla and honey sweet, a hint of spicy cologne lingering, but the space beside him is empty. 

There are dull thuds coming from what must be the bathroom, along with the spraying of water, and Ben’s damned to mark that as a missed opportunity. It seems to be early morning, still, judging by the half-light cracking from the gap in Callum’s curtains; he wants to sleep for a century, preferably with Callum curled up around him. _Definitely like that._

He hears Callum enter the room before he sees him, trying extremely hard to keep quiet, yet failing miserably. Ben slowly shuffles himself up the bed so that he's facing Callum, and blinks his hooded eyes half-open. He’d be lying if he were to say he’s not disappointed Callum is no longer naked, but immediately pushes that aside when he groggily recognises he’s wearing one of Ben’s hoodies instead. It's a little short on the arms, the lower hem rides up his stomach, exposing the pale, freckled skin there, and Ben thinks, _fuck_.

Callum tsks. “You’re ain’t even fully awake yet and you’re already checking me out. _Insatiable_."

"Can you blame me?" Ben murmurs in response, smiling, slow, his vision smudged with sleep. “Come back t’bed.”

"I've got work to do," Callum says, all the while inching closer to the bed. “And so have you, Mr. Mitchell.”

"You’ve got me to do, you mean,” Ben turns his body with Callum’s movements, goes around to his side of the bed, crawls up on hands and knees, giving Callum _those eyes_ he knows he’s helpless to. 

“Oi,” Ben says, and his words are low, just for Callum. “Come back down here. I wanna kiss you.”

“You always want to kiss me, don’t front,” Callum argues, and then he shakes his head and just watches Ben for a moment.

"God," he sighs, stalking over to the edge of the bed, “you’re so gorgeous.” 

"And you’re so lovely," Ben responds. Callum hums and tries to press himself as close to Ben as he can get. Lucky it for Ben, it’s close enough that he can roll them both back on the bed. 

The kiss is everything Ben dreams about. It’s soft mouths, all honey-warm, it’s sleepy and slow, both of them burrowing down into the quilt as the sunlight steals slowly over the market stalls below. 

“Right. You’ve got half an hour before we _really_ need to get up, Mitchell. Get to work.” 

**november, 16th**

“Hey.”

Ben flinches and looks up from the cracks in the school floor. Callum stands before him, looking pleasantly surprised and gorgeous.

“Hey,” Ben says.

“All good?” Callum says quietly. He opens his locker and Ben maneuvers around the other side of him so they can talk, half screened by the locker door.

“Yeah, just didn’t fancy the staff room today,” Ben says, honestly. He’s had a bit of a week. Trouble with some year eights on Monday, an excruciating detention on Tuesday, a gruelling meeting with a _know-it-all_ parent on Wednesday, and to top it all off, he had to cancel on Callum last night. So he’ll be damned if he missed lunch with him today.

“Rough week?” Callum says, gentle.

“You could say that,” Ben murmurs, scratching absently at his shoulder as he casts a glance around the hallway. He feels full of nervous energy, like a school-child doing something they shouldn't. He doesn’t know why, there’s no pupils permitted around this area, and it’s not as if they’ve ever been stubble in front of the other staff, either. “Just wanted to see you.”

“Mm,” Callum hums. “Missed you last night.” 

Ben doesn’t say anything more for a moment, just lets his stomach flutters as he watches Callum attempt to shove piles of books into his locker. 

“What?” Callum quirks his lips.

“I can’t say what I’m thinking here,” Ben muses.

Callum grins, starts to push away from the locker to continue down the hall. “Guess you’ll just have to follow me then,” he says over his shoulder, eyes bright and smile a little mischievous, bitten down between his teeth.

“Oh I was fully intending to,” Ben laughs. 

Ben kicks Callum’s classroom door shut behind him, managing to pull the blinds half-down before Callum’s lips come to brush over his own, light and barely there.

“Kiss me,” Callum murmurs, soft. And then it’s so much more. Ben stutters, finding himself cupping at Callum’s jaw. 

Ben’s helpless to do anything _but._ He’s got Callum leant back against the wall, looming over Ben, legs pressed up together. He sucks Callum’s bottom lip into his mouth, flicks his tongue out slowly and presses him back, pushes his thumb against his jaw gently. 

“God,” he sighs as they pull away. “I’ve missed this.” 

Callum’s laughter is a burst, something so bright that reminds Ben of his favourite song. It’s a sound worth capturing in a bottle, saving for a rainy day. He hides it into Ben’s neck, shoulders shaking, cheeks flamed pink. “What, since you last kissed me a whole day ago?” 

“ _Definitely,_ ” Ben says, leaning down to grip at Callum’s hips tightly, pressing his lips to Callum’s neck. “A whole day too long, if you ask me.”

“Hm,” Callum agrees. 

"However, and very unfortunately, you’ve got a lesson now and should get to class," he says, dragging his lips over Callum’s skin slowly. "Wouldn't want you to be late, Mr. _Always-on-Time_."

"I’ve got twenty minutes before the first student even shows up," Callum moves his hands down Ben’s chest. "We've got a little bit of time."

"God, I’ve created a monster.” 

Despite his insistence, Callum breaks off as sounds of chatter filters down the hallway, followed by the clatter of an angry-sounding pair of high heels.

“Fine, fine,” he moans, taking a step back, hands up in mock surrender. “I suppose I can wait til’ later, Mr. Responsible!” 

  
  


It’s a miracle all of Ben’s students are seated come the fifty-third minute of the lesson, although most turned in their seats talking to each other now. A few of the boys start to toss crumbled up pieces of paper at each other and Ben walks over, does his stern teacher routine and grabs a flying ball out of the air before it hits someone square in the face. 

"Woah," the boy who threw the paper laughs, staring up at Ben as if he's snatched a bullet out of the air with his bare hands. "That was _so_ cool, Mr. Mitchell!"

"What have I told you boys about throwing things in my class?" Ben asks, attempting to be as authoritative as possible without being menacing. That's why he's a favorite among the lower years students – he doesn't yell, or scream, or try to completely control the class. As long as you get your work done and focus he'll let you have a little fun on the side. 

"Not to do it," the boy shrugs. "But, didn't you see my aim? I was going to get Billy right in the nose!"

"I'll make you a deal with you," Ben says, crossing his arms over his chest and folding his right arm up at the elbow so that he can tap the paper ball against his chin. "If I can get this into the bin,” he nods at the bin by the door, a good five meters away, "from here, then you won’t throw another unauthorized paper ball around my classroom for the rest of the year. Deal?"

"There's no way you can make that!" The boy shouts, nods in agreement anyway. 

"Deal. But if you don't get it in, you have to buy the whole class chocolates."

Ben purses his lips at the idea, chuckling to himself. "Deal," he shakes the boys hand before turning and looking at the bin. He bites his lip and puts on a show for the kids, asking if he can move a bit closer. "Well, here goes nothing."

Luckily for Ben, and his bank account, the paper ball taps against the side of his desk and falls straight into th bin. The kids clap and laugh and Ben bows twice before putting his fingers to his lips.

"Right. Time to pay attention," he shouts. The class falls quiet at his command, girls controlling fits of giggles and the boys stunned to silence. 

“Remember your homework is due next week, and I’ll need your permission slips for the theatre trip back then, to.”

"Mr. Mitchell?" a soft voice pulls his attention from the linoleum floor tiles to his class.

"Hmm?" Ben looks around, searching for the source of the voice. His eyes land on a girl standing in the doorway.

"Sorry for interrupting," she says nervously, looking around. Ben smiles warmly at her, standing up from his desk. 

"It's fine, Lily," Ben shakes his head. "We we’re just wrapping thing up. Can I help you?"

"Mr. Highway sent me with a note for you," she replies, smiling brightly back at him. She holds out a folded piece of paper and he takes it, reading the familiar script. 

_Ditch the teachers meeting with me tonight? Mr H_

Ben crumples up the piece of paper and smiles to himself. 

"Tell Mr. Highway that I'll see him after school to help," Ben nods and sends the girl on her way.

“Right you lot, get out of here.” 

**december, 10th**

The thing is.

The thing is, that Ben spends so much time around Callum now that when they’re not together, he feels like there’s a presence missing that should be beside him. When he follows Callum’s car home after work, and they lie sprawled on the sofa, reading or simply doing nothing at all, _just being,_ it’s so intensely intimate in a way Ben’s never experienced before. 

They’re close now, not best friends close, but something more, something unspoken. But still, close enough to read each other’s eyes and know, to know what the other needs. Close enough that Ben can tell when Callum is having a bad day. 

And sometimes, he falls into these sporadic moods. He doesn’t let them show, not to his pupils, their co-workers or friends; there’s no chance of noticing the change behind his sunshine smile, unless you spend almost all you’re free with him like Ben does.

He’d seemed subdued all morning, showing up to school with soft bags under his eyes, claiming a fitful sleep. By lunch, a sadness had rolled itself into his eyes quietly, _blink and you’ll miss_ , like a distant, brooding storm, but still, he’d attempted to convince Ben that he was absolutely fine, only his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

The shrill ring of the bell snaps Ben out of his thoughts, loud and barking to signal the end of the day. He snaps himself into gear quickly, desperate to get himself packed away and to Callum’s classroom before hundreds of students cram the corridors with their gossip and complaints about tonight’s homework. 

When he gets there though, the classroom is empty. It’s not neat and tidy like it usually is, there’s paperwork sprawled all over the desk and this morning coffee sat cold in his mug. It all makes Ben’s throat swell up, worry shakes at his stomach. 

“He’s gone.” 

Ben stills, then turns over his shoulder to the doorway, not surprised to see Whitney standing there. A look Ben can’t place flicks over her face. 

“What?”

“Callum, he’s gone home. Kheerat told him to take the rest of the afternoon off.”

“Is he okay?” 

“He will be,” she says thickly, and then there’s that look again, before, “could probably do with a friend right now, though.” 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Cheers, Whit.” 

He drives to Callum’s house on auto-pilot, and when he gets to the door, he has to let himself in. (“ _Spare keys under the plant pot in the porch, y’know, if you ever need it, or I end up locking myself in or burn the house down or, whatever.”)_ He calls out a few times as he creeks the door open, but there’s nothing, the only comfort to Ben is the sight of Callum’s work shoes thrown haphazardly across the hallway. As he rounds the top of the stairs, he peeks into the dark bedroom, sees Callum curled up and quiet, eyes bleak and the air static with destruction. He has that book, the one Ben gifted his only weeks back, caught between his fingers, but he’s not reading it.

“Hey.” 

“Ben?” Callum questions, but his voice breaks around the word and it comes out as more of a question than anything else. “What you doing ‘ere?” 

Ben moves to sit on the edge of Callum’s bed gingerly and rests his elbows on his knees. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh,” Callum whispers in surprise, and that just break Ben’s fucking heart. He pulls the sheet up over his shoulders.

“Are you?”

Callum breaks his eyes away, lips pressed together. “Not really.”

He looks entirely exhausted, under eyes hollowed and dark, hair a mess on his head, curled in on himself. Ben sags at the sight of him, swallowing.

They’re silent, and the wind is picking up, winter well on its way to breaking over the town, waking from its slumber and pushing autumn out of its way. 

“It’s my Dad’s anniversary. He died five years ago today.” 

“God Callum,” Ben whispers. “I’m sorry. _So sorry._ I had no idea.” 

Callum’s face sours, and he shakes his head, lowers his eyes. “He wasn’t much of a loss, really.”

“Still,” Ben starts, careful. “You’re obviously upset, or maybe not, which is fine too, but you ain’t yourself. And I hate that you’re struggling, Callum. I hate that you’re doing it alone.” 

“I weren’t—” Callum cuts himself off, jaw working. “I should've told you.” 

They’re silent for a moment, and the wind is picking up, the dregs of winter waking from its slumber and pushing autumn we’ll out of its way. 

“No, that I ain’t what I meant,” Ben says, panicked he’s said the wrong thing. “You ain’t gotta explain anything to me, I just want you to know that I’m here. Whatever you need, _I’m here_.” 

“No, it’s—,” Callum swallows, breath shuddery. He pushes himself up from the bed and swings his legs over to sit beside Ben. “I should talk about it. _About him. I should_. I can’t hold it all any longer.”

“Okay. Okay, then I’m here,” Ben reassures as he takes Callum’s in his own, grip tight. “Ain’t going anywhere, so go at your own pace, yeah?” 

“I thought I were going to be alright today, and I was. Well, I was holding it together at least, but then—then my brother, Stuart, he called me and I reached into my bag I saw the book. And suddenly I was back there, back to being a scared little boy who just wanted to _read_.” 

When Callum’s shuddering breaths don’t calm, when he remains silent, Ben gives him a helping hand. “Did you read much when you were a kid, then?” 

“All the time,” Callum says, searching for the memories with hesitance. 

“I can just imagine a little you with your head stuck in a book,” Ben huffs a soft laugh, and when Callum looks at him again there’s this barely there smile twisting at his lips. 

“My dad used to throw my books off the top floor of our apartment block if he caught me reading them,” he sighs, defeated. “Just like that, y’know. Like they were nothing.”

“ _Why_?” Ben says, chest tightening up at the way Callum’s face doesn’t change, eyes still glazed with that sorrow. “That’s awful, Cal.” 

“It was never my place to have my nose in a book, he’d say,” Callum explains. “I used to stay up all night and wait for him to go to bed because I was too scared to risk reading while he was awake. I would steal books from the library all the time, peel the stickers off them and hide them under my shirts, read all through the night and then take them back the next day before anyone could figure it out. Sometimes he caught me though, or Mum found them if she was changing my sheets.”

“It drove him insane because I wouldn’t — _I couldn’t_ — be the exact person he wanted me to be. He’d get so mad,” Callum says absently, swallowing. “His son, reading books instead of playing football, writing poems instead of learning real graft, a daydreamer instead of a _real man._ ”

Ben doesn’t know what to say, can only watch the emotions shift over Callum’s face, the pain that slowly rises up in his eyes, emerging from that window glaze he always keeps the curtains shut over. 

“He never let me forget it, either,” Callum continues quietly. “The sacrifices he’d made for us. The stories he told me about having to work long nights and early hours just to put bread on the table, and there I was—there I was doing _nothing_ useful.”

“And I’ll never forget. Any of it. Every time he hit a book out of my hands and called me a failure of a son, of a _man, y_ ’know. And, God—it tore my Mum apart, seeing that, because she felt like failure to, too afraid to put a stop to it.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben says, but Callum just shakes his head. “Callum, you’re so brilliant. God, your Dad—he, he didn’t deserve you.”

“I could never understand why he hated me so much,” Callum says. “And what I did understand, _I_ hated. All I ever did when he wasn’t around was read to try and feel something other than guilt. It was an escape, I guess.”

In the quiet that rolls over them, Ben tries to get his mind to catch up with the way his chest is aching, imaging Callum as a boy, inquisitive and with his nose buried in a book, happy. Only for it all to be snatched away from him. 

“That’s why I decided I wanted to become teacher,” Callum says softly. “I remember I told my Mum that once, that I wanted to write novels and read all day, that I wanted to leave Walford and go to a university far, far away, I thought she might—that she might understand, or be proud of my ambition.”

“But instead, she left.” 

“Oh, Cal,” Ben says, heart aching at the way Callum’s eyes spill over. “I’m _so_ sorry.”

Ben pulls him in then, can’t bare not to any longer, not when Callum hands start to shake, entire face crumbling.

He thinks of his own childhood, his own dreams and desires, snubbed out before he even got the chance to play with the flame. There’s something that makes him so inexplicably sad, thinking of that time.

“I know how it feels,” Ben admits, meek. “To want to get away. To lose yourself in this other world that doesn’t really exist. But it’s real, to you.”

“Growing up, it’s hard. Harder than people give you credit for, especially when you have these disapproving father’s that seem to have your life planned out for you before you’re even born,” Ben says, and there’s an emotion in his voice he can’t hide now, tears pricking his eyes that he’s unable to will away. “But you made this life for yourself, Cal. And now—now you get to read and write everyday, all whilst sharing your own experience with hundreds of children; allowing their own to be _so_ much better.” 

“What about you? Did you always want to teach, growing up?” Callum asks suddenly. Ben has to take a moment to answer the question, because the more he thinks about it, the more it seems to swell in his chest, the hurt, the phantom feeling of something he can’t quite picture in its entirety.

“No, still ain’t sure it’s exactly what I want to do now,” he says, and God, this may be the most honest he’s been in all of his life, so why does it feel so _easy._ “Always thought I’d rock up on the west end, but I missed all my opportunities, I guess.” 

Ben’s stomach curls at the memories, his Gran and Aunt Roxy sneaking him off to tap lessons and ballet competitions, his Dad none the wiser until one day he _was._

“How come?” Callum question, soft. 

“My Dad wasn’t the most approving, either,” Ben continues. “Not of the musicals I loved to watch, nor the dance routines I used to choreograph in my bedroom. And _definitely_ not of the whole gay thing.” 

“Is that why you moved away? Why you came to live down here?” 

“Mostly, yeah. I just couldn’t live like that anymore,” Ben says after a pause. “I thought things would change, that my Dad would get used to it, learn to cope with who I am. But then I realised, a father should never have to _get used_ to their child.” 

“Do you miss home?”

Ben contemplates the question, football sweeping back and forth over the rough carpet. “I don’t think I’ve ever hated anything more than that place.” 

“And now? Do you like it down here?” Callum says, so softly. Ben picks at a loose thread in the sheets, jaw working when he swallows. 

“I think you know the answer to them at one,” Ben says, unable to find a string of words that melt together to say what he really means. “C’mere,” he breathes then, barely a sound. 

He stretches out a hand, runs his thumb across Callum’s knuckles, fingers coming to rest in the gaps there. Callum stutters out a breath, gravitating closer, his eyes fluttering closed with every touch.

He aligns his head up, squeezing Ben’s hand as he dips his face closer, their noses bumping. Ben can feel Callum’s warm breath on his lips, and when he shifts, their lips brush together, just barely. Ben sucks in a deep breath, chest heaving, and leans down some more.

It’s so, unbelievably, delicate. Like never before. Their lips meet with a press, cautious yet familiar, and they stay that way for a few moments before Ben pulls away a little, then ducks down again. 

“Is this okay?” 

Callum’s answers with a desperate _yeah_ and presses in closer, both his hands coming up to cup Ben’s face as he kisses him _slow_ and _soft,_ pulling back every few moments to shudder in a breath. 

“Thank you for looking after me.” 

Ben grabs his hands and kisses him again. 

“ _Always_.” 

“Sometime I feel like I’m a completely different person now, other times I don’t even know who I am. I’m sorry you had to see that side of me—” 

Callum cuts himself off, presses the heel of his palm into his eye.

“Hey, no. Don’t be apologising for being you, Callum,” Ben says in the pause, curling impossibly closer to Callum. “Because you’re amazing. You’re _so_ kind, Cal. You’re observant, and full of heart, and you don’t even realise how much love and light you give to other people, by just being in their presence. And you’re funny, even if you ain’t got a patch on my humour. You pick up on details that others are moving too fast to see, and you keep your secrets close to your heart, like your very own book waiting to be uncovered. But still, I can see your heart on your sleeve, when you let me see it.”

Callum stares at him, tears wobbly where they’re stuck. There’s this intense, steady flush crawling up over his neck, fingers curled with Ben’s. His smile is barely there, so gentle, warm as he presses his thumb against Ben’s pulse.

“I’ve never met anybody like you before,” Ben finishes. 

Callum inhales slowly. “I ain’t owt special, just a bit of a mess really.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Ben says softy. “You’re just you. And I’ve never met anybody like you.”

Under the silent night, their mouths meet again, and it’s soft and melty and cautious. But there’s another feeling there now, lingering, pushing up-up-up, one feels an awful lot like _love._

**december, 24**

The light is soft over Callum’s cheeks. They’re still red with sleep, pillow creases adoring his face. But still, he looks like every dream Ben has ever had.  
  
That’s the first thing Ben comes to realise when he nudges the bedroom door open, so gentle that it stays blessedly silent from it’s usual creaking, so tentatively that Callum’s eyes don’t flicker open. The clock has just ticked over to eight am, winter's sun rising up between the trees and pouring milky reflections through the window, splayed along the expanse of Callum’s back. 

Ben clears his throat softly and meanders further into the room, _their room._ “Hey,” he whispers. The door closes behind him without a click.  
  
Callum shifts, eyes flicking open, almost translucent where the light hits, like pale, stained glass. There’s something so delicate about the way he blinks, lashes tangled together with sleep, his brows mused, hair sticking in every which way direction. 

"Hey yourself," Callum mumbles when he catches Ben watching him, turning over so he's more fully on his side, rubbing his cheek against his pillow. 

“Merry Christmas Eve.” 

"Merry Christmas Eve," Callum replies, his hoarse morning voice cracking over the word, and God, Ben really wishes they could spend the whole day in bed.

Callum’s eyelashes look the softest shade of brown, sweeping steady and slow as he blinks, lips cherry glaze. Here, Ben sees him in curves and gentle fingertips, a vulnerable haze to his eyes, so young-looking and innocent with his hair flat and soft smile on his face that pulls at Ben’s heart in all the ways he wants it to be pulled. 

“I can’t wait for today,” Ben says as he settles himself on the bed beside Callum, reaching a hand out to trace his fingers over Callum’s shoulder, and the flurry of fading freckles there. His skin is warm. 

Callum leans into his touch on instinct, and Ben can’t help the tiny sigh the escapes his lips; it’s everything. The comfort of touch, the whisper of his breath, the depths of his eyes as Callum glances up at him from under his wet lashes. Sunlight dances on one side of his face, pale strips of it that bring a white glow to his temple and the tip of his cheekbone. “Me too, gonna be the best Christmas yet, I think.”

“Oh yeah?” Ben questions, “and why's that?” 

“Because I get to watch you embarrass yourself on the karaoke later,” Callum answers. “ _Obviously._ ” 

“Excuse me,” Ben protests. “I won’t be doing no such thing. I’ll have you know I have all the Bublé songs perfected.” 

“Hm,” Callum says, head lolling onto his shoulder, eyebrow cocked up. “Guess we’ll see.” 

The sky has almost cleared now, the gap in the curtain showing a bright white filling the sky, a tell-tale sign that snow is brewing. There’s still a fragile strip of burnt amber on the horizon, the last of the sunrise hanging around, too tired to let go completely. The glistening golds and fading pinks paint their room in shadows, yet despite all that, Callum is still the most beautiful view of all. 

And then there's a few minutes of silence, _of appreciation,_ the kind that only comes with early mornings, before Ben decides now is probably the best time to do what he wants to do. 

At Ben’s sudden movement, Callum shifts on his side, and focuses on Ben as he picks up a neatly wrapped box from his bag under the bed.  
  
Callum frowns as he picks it up and turns it over, a simple _Merry Early Christmas_ written on the tag, and a couple of kisses thrown in for good measure. 

  
“This from you?” he questions, peering up at Ben through his lashes. Ben merely nods in reply, a sight blushing rising up his cheeks, suddenly feeling nervous, _so unlike himself_. But this matters, it always does when it comes to Callum. “You didn’t have to get me anything—you shouldn’t have, Ben.”  
  
Ben shrugs, trying to keep that cool he’s so used to showing. “I wanted to,” he states simply, because really, that’s all there is to it. 

When it comes to Callum, he wants. _Always has. Always will._

Callum doesn’t answer him, instead, he merely reaches down to unwrap the box, large hands enveloping it in one. He gets into the box then, pulls out the gift delicately, eyes shining in wonder, clearly surprised.

It’s a bauble; pristine cut with care and decision. But that’s not all it is, on one side are Callum’s initials, just a simple _C.H._ And on the other, is the most important part, _will you be my boyfriend?_

“Ben—“ he starts, carefully opening the clear box the bauble arrived in, eyes shining. “Are you—are you sure? I mean, really sure?”  
  
“Yes,” Ben assures him. “God, Callum. I’m more sure than I’ve ever been.”

“Well then yes,” Callum answers immediately, mouth lifting, a shy, blushing smile brighter than the winter sun, as he looks up at Ben. And that look, just that single glance makes Ben’s heart jump. “Of course I’ll be your boyfriend Ben, _of course._ ” 

“Are _you_ sure?”

“Obviously, idiot,” Ben says barely a sound. Then, he takes in a thick breath. “I want to be with you. I want to make this work. I want everything with you.” 

“You— _Ben_ ,” Callum‘s eyes brighten. “You make me so happy.”

He leans over and presses a delicate kiss to Ben’s forehead, stroking his hair. He trails his lips down the bridge of his nose, then meets his mouth, _so soft._ It’s just one, long press, warm and gentle, filled with promises of everything _more_. 

“ _Boyfriend,_ ” he whispers against Ben’s lips, warm breath fluttering around them. “I like the sound of that.”

And yeah, Ben feels a little like he’s got fireworks trapped inside his chest, exploding into little shocks of happiness whenever Callum so much as looks his way. It’s ridiculous, really. 

Best Christmas Eve, ever. 

  
  
  
  


It’s packed inside The Vic, a large portion of the East End all crammed in together. Christmas lights and tinsel have been thrown over the wooden beams, some of it dusting the floor and landing in their hair as they shuffle inside. 

Mick, bless him, has saved them the table in front of the stage. He’s also dressed as an elf, and greets them all with a round of festive shots. Ben has decided that he definitely likes him.

The whole atmosphere is buzzing and homely, laughter swirling around him as they sit, as Mick starts to round everyone up to start karaoke.

Callum has ended up with a Santa hat on his head, Ben himself with a pair of reindeer ears. Jay forces them into taking photos together, and Ben can’t help but pulling Callum in for a kiss that is nowhere near appropriate for a public place, Callum flushes bright pink and Ben obviously takes that as a win. 

“Send me that one,” Ben taps Jay’s phone screen harshly. “Might make it my lockscreen.” 

“You’re terrible,” Callum says, hugging at Ben’s waist tightly, snuggling into his neck with a shy laugh before he shouts across the room for Mick to get karaoke started.

It’s an absolute mess from the word go.

At this point, ninety percent of the bar are definitely drunk, empty glasses stacked high around tables and on the bar, eyes bright with joy and laughter. The singing is horrendous and the dancing is even worse, and Ben has tears in his eyes from laughing, has tears in his eyes from how happy he is to be here, surrounded by all this.

When he’s eventually pushed up onto the stage with Jay, he’s got a mulled wine n in one hand, and he looks through the songs carefully, blinking hard to read the fuzzy, fluorescent screen. As soon as he sees the song, a manic grin lights up his face, laughter already bubbling in his stomach.

“Oi, Callum!” He shouts. Callum smiles up at him dazed, face flushed the same colour as his jumper. “This one’s for you. Mick, hit it!” 

Callum throws his head back as the first notes of Mariah’s ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ fill the air. 

“Oh my God, Ben,” Jay shakes his head in disapproval. “I can’t hit Mariah’s high notes!”

“Stop being a wuss and help me out, will ya? I’m trying to impress here, y’know,” 

The opening lines start to play, and it’s not long before Jay’s smiling along as he sings. Ben reckons it’s a miracle; that he’s more off-tune than Ben himself. And when he tells Jay so, he pulls him into a rough headlock and spurs Ben into singing along too.

 _“I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know,”_ Ben sings with a sway of his hips, blinking over at Callum innocently, mouth curled into a smug smile, _“make my wish come true, baby all I want for Christmas is you.”_

“Oi, Cal!” He shouts over at Callum before the next verse hits, beckoning him up onto the stage. He shakes his head with laughter and downs the rest of his drink as he stumbles up the tiny step, but not before he grabs Lola on his way.

“I can’t believe you’ve got me up here,” Callum whispers as throws an arm over Ben’s shoulders. 

“Didn’t take much convincing,” Ben grins. “Did ya?”

“Hm, that's the problem. You know I’d do anything you asked.” 

They four of them dance around each other messily through the instrumental parts, laughing around the low _baaaabby’s_ in the background.

The song fades out with a little a jingle, and the pub erupts into drunken applause and cheers as Ben and Jay give clumsy bows, before being pulled off the stage by Callum and Lola. At the bar, Mick has his arms crossed over his chest and his nose scrunched, but there’s amusement and fondness glistening in his eyes.

The second they squeeze back into their seats, Callum pulls Ben close, so close so that his lips drag over his ear. “’m gonna get you back for that,” he whispers, winking, or well, attempting to. Ben winks right back and steals a sip of Callum’s beer. 

They sit back and listen as Sonia follows them with the funniest rendition of Jingle Bells that Ben has ever seen. It seems to be the instrumental version, and she bounces around the stage with her trumpet. Ben snorts his drink out his nose when she leaps from the stage and starts to dance through the audience.

“Alright, time for us to show this lot how it’s done, Whit,” Callum announces once Sonia finishes with a bow. He pats Ben’s cheek and gives him another wink as he slides out of the booth, leading a very excited Whitney up to the stage. 

Callum’s santa hat is lopsided, and Ben bites his lips into his mouth as he watches him flick through the songs. There’s a ghost of a smirk on his pretty lips, hip cocked as he whispers Mick his orders presses one and takes a stand behind one of the mics, eyes locked with Ben’s. 

The second the first few notes ring out, Ben drops his head into his hands and groans, laughter rippling through him as he peeks at Callum and Whitney through his fingers. He’s swinging his hips, a shit-eating grin on his lips as he blinks at Ben slowly. The entire pub start to whistle and clap, cheering the duo on.

 _“Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree for me,”_ Callum starts, breathy and soft and surprisingly in-tune. _“Been an awful good girl.”_

“Yes, Cal!” Lola claps, wiping at her eyes as he laughs.

“Jesus,” Jay kicks Ben’s shin lightly under the table. “You’re gonna have a fun night.”

The bar is singing along drunkenly, hanging off each other and swaying. But Callum’s eyes stay locked on Ben’s as he dances, shakes his hips in slow rolls. His voice is melodic and high, and Ben thinks he may be in a bit of a trance, lips working over his bottom teeth as Callum sings to him, smirking.

 _“Think of all the fun I’ve missed,”_ Whitney sings beautifully as Callum starts to come down off the stage, walking towards Ben slowly, shoulders swaying. _“Think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed. Next year I could also be good, if you’ll check off my Christmas list.”_

When Callum reaches him, he tugs Ben’s reindeer ears off and replaces them with his Santa hat, dipping close as matches Whitney’s singing, breathy and with hooded eyes. Ben’s fingers curl into his jumper, eager to just pull him into his lap and kiss him mid-song.

 _“Hurry down the chimney tonight,”_ Callum sings, walking his fingers down Ben’s chest with each beat _. “Hurry, tonight.”_

As the song comes to a close, Ben leans forward and noses at his hair, presses a soft kiss to his neck, below his ear, and finally, his lips.

“That was mean,” he murmurs against Callum’s skin.

“You loved it,” Callum leans back further, and Ben wraps his arms around his waist, face mushed against his shoulder. “Don’t lie.” 

“Mm,” he brushes his thumbs over Callum’s stomach. “Will you hurry down my chimney tonight?”

Callum snorts into his drink and turns to whack him playfully. “ _Ben_!”

Ben pulls Callum outside minutes before the clock strikes midnight. On one of the benches, they’re all alone. Two stars, lost and found in a sea of unknown. 

“What?” Callum whispers as their lips smudging together, his smile matches Ben’s, just as breathless with his gentle laughter.

“Nothing,” Ben shakes his head, bumps their noses together. Callum’s eyes are so bright. “I’m just happy.” 

“Me, too,” Callum kisses him gently, just a peck. “You make me happy.”

They kiss again, properly this time, because they can, because the second that passed already feels like too long for their lips to be apart. They stay close, stay warm in each other’s arms, stay together until midnight hits, temperature dropping into frost, just the Christmas lights glowing around them, bathing them in softest red, gentlest green, cradling them in these homey shadows. 

“Merry Christmas,” Callum breathes, sleepy and soft. He’s got his head on Ben’s shoulder, fingers linked between them. “I love you.”

Something explodes in Ben’s chest, something fiery and bright, like the birth of a star. And suddenly his cheeks are damp to the touch, aren’t they?

“I love you, too,” he hums, honest, leans down and presses a soft kiss into Callum’s hair, then to his lips when he tilts his head up for a proper kiss. 

Their lips are wet and mulled-wine sticky, their hands vice grips on each other. Ben murmurs in his mouth over and over, _love you, love you, love you._

“Merry Christmas ya filthy animal,” he adds, when they reluctantly part. 

Ben doesn’t know where they’ll go from here, knows the future is just a distant thought, that right now winter seems an endless string of days blurred together.

But here, now, they have this, they have this moment cupped in their palms and they’ve found warmth amongst a frozen winter, and Ben feels as though he could want this forever. He wants Callum in every season, every month and day that passes. He wants him for as long as he can have him, and right now, he’s got him. They’ve got each other. 

The unquestionable, everlasting truth of it all, the core of Ben’s happiness, is this.

He’s proud. He’s free. He’s _loved._

_And he’s in love._

That, he knows, with every fibre of his being, won’t ever change.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m dingletragedy on tumblr, come say hi <33 commets/kudos greatly appreciated. stay safe xx


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